“Probably,” Roger said. “But we aren’t going to let it worry us now, and I’m going to keep you on a piece of string until this is over!” He looked at her and saw that her eyes were filled with tears. “Oh, my sweet!”
“No, don’t fuss me !” Janet said, sharply for her.
He walked quietly by her side, thinking that the experience had affected her more than he would have expected. Soon, she tucked her arm into his.
“Sorry,” she said, “I feel so jumpy.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Roger asked.
They said little as he drove home, except that Janet did her best to describe the two men who had forced her into the taxi.
As they turned into Bell Street they saw a taxi waiting outside the house. Roger’s thoughts were diverted. He gripped Janet’s arm and hustled her along.
“Who do you think has called ?” demanded Janet.
“A cabby with a good memory, I hope,” said Roger. “Ah, there’s Pep ! It’s my man of last night all right!”
CHAPTER 9
An Address in Welbeck Street
THE CABBY was a gruff individual, as Roger remembered from their brief encounter in the black-out. He was also stolid and solid. He wore a dirty collar and tie but only one overcoat; he was with Pep Morgan and Mark in the lounge and glared at Roger as he entered with Janet, but he managed to smile when he saw Janet, and touched his forehead. He even removed his cap.
“Now p’raps you can tell me what it’s all about?” he said, eyeing Roger aggressively. “I dunno wot you think I am. Got to be earning me living, I have, not like some people.” He sniffed.
“Do you remember taking me to Scotland Yard last night?” Roger asked, taking out his wallet and extracting two pound notes. The cabby sniffed again, and answered more affably :
“Yes, Guv’nor. I remember.”
“And you let another man share the cab?”
“I don’t ‘ave to tell yer what you already know, Guv’nor, do I?”
“I’m talking as a private citizen,” Roger said. “How far did the other man go?”
“West End,” said the cabby.
“Do you remember where you dropped him?”
“Yers — end of Welbeck Street.”
“Did he say where he was going from there?”
“No,” said the cabby. “He just said the end of Welbeck Street would be all right for ‘im. He went down the street. I know that, ‘cos I saw him disappear into a house. I wanted to lay orf for an hour so I follered ‘im along to the nearest rank.”
Roger’s heart began to beat fast.
“Was it far along?”
“I don’t exactly know, but it wasn’t so far, Guv’nor. I couldn’t say for certain which one it was. Tell you what,” he added, his eyes on the two pounds. “There was an island in the middle of the road just erbaht where he turned into the house. I know that place like the palm of me hand. It might have been the second island or the first, but it was an island.”
“That’s a great help,” said Roger. “Take us to Welbeck Street, will you? Pep, will you come with me?”
“Why, of course,” said Morgan.
“But —” began Janet.
“Mark will look after the house,” said Roger. “He’ll also keep an eye on you. I won’t be long.” He was followed by the cabby and Pep.
“Now what’s got into you, Handsome?” demanded Morgan. “That’s the trouble with you, I never know whether I’m coming or going.”
“Oh, we’re going,” said Roger, expansively. “And I’m full of ideas. How did you get on at the Yard last night?”
“I didn’t like it much, Handsome,” Morgan said frankly. “I never did like Abbott, and after the way he talked to me I’ll never have a good word to say for him. Sarcastic swine. But I didn’t give anything away and you put me all right your end, Mr Lessing says.”
“They also know you’re working for me,” Roger said. “Have you heard what happened to Mark this morning?”
“A bit of it,” said Morgan. “The driver was with us most of the time; he couldn’t say much. What did happen?”
Roger told him but did not add why he had suddenly become animated and left the house in such a hurry until they reached the end of Welbeck Street. The cabby explained at some length where he thought the passenger had gone. It was into one of the houses near the second island in the middle of the street.
“Thanks,” Roger said. “If you care to wait, I’ll probably want to go back to Chelsea soon.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” said the cabby.
“Would you mind telling me what you think you can do at a house where this man might have come?” demanded Morgan. “I can’t help you if I’m in the dark all the time, Handsome, can I ?”
“Pep, you missed a vision this morning,” said Roger, in high good humour. “A Daimler pulled up outside my house and out she stepped.”
“Now be sensible.”
“Oh, I am being! She was beauty itself and there was money oozing from her. She came, she said, to solicit Janet’s help for the Society of European Relief. Oddly enough,” he added, offhandedly, “the offices of the Society are in Welbeck Street.”
Morgan looked at him sharply.
“So I wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t find many interesting things here,” said Roger. “We’ve plenty to go on, Pep. How do you like working for an ex-policeman ?”
“Now don’t talk like that,” remonstrated Morgan. “What are you going to do now ?”
“You take the next house, I’ll take the one beyond it,” Roger said. “See if you can find the name of the Society of European Relief on one of the boards.” He smiled as Pep went up four steps leading to an open door and whistled to himself as he viewed the next-door house. It had been taken over as offices but none of the name boards mentioned the Society. To refresh his memory, he looked at Mrs Sylvester Cartier’s card : Welbeck Street was right but there was no number. Pep passed him, shaking his head. They were opposite the island and the cabby had pulled up on the other side of the road.
The next house was a blank also, but when Roger walked down the steps he saw Morgan standing on the porch next door, waving. Roger joined him quickly.
“Got it!” exclaimed Morgan. “You’ll make quite a detective when you grow up, Handsome!” He led the way into a darkened hallway and pointed to the notice board, which had the names of four different firms or institutions; on the third floor — the top — was the Society of European Relief. “But there’s no lift,” Morgan said.
“I couldn’t ask you to walk up all those stairs,” Roger said. “Stay down here and keep your eyes open.”
“Now listen —”
“You can’t have it all your own way,” Roger told him. He made for the stairs, going up the first flight two at a time but then proceeding more calmly. Pep shook a fist at him but did not attempt to follow.
The landings were darkened but windows were open and allowed some light in. On the third floor a typewriter was clattering and one door was ajar. It was marked ‘Inquiries’ and had the name of the society underneath. Roger stepped in. Behind a wooden partition he could hear a typewriter going at great speed. He pressed a bell in the counter and started at the loud, harsh ring. The typewriter stopped at the first sound, a chair was pushed back and a girl rounded the partition.
She was pretty; she wore a white blouse and a dark skirt; her hair was dark, like Janet’s, and she was about Janet’s height. She appeared very self-possessed, and smiled pleasantly. On her right hand was a solitaire diamond ring, a beautiful thing.
“Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you?” Roger liked her voice.
“I think you probably can,” he said.
“In what way, please ?”
Roger smiled disarmingly. “I wonder if you would take £250 in notes to the Mid-Union Bank and put it into my account ? My name is West.”